


Merry, Merry

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the fuck is the plural of Quiche?" Brendon wonders, out loud. "Is it like. Like. A plural all on its own? Like geese?"</p><p>"Does it matter?" Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "Move over. I'm cooking everything else."</p><p>"You should drink more," Brendon says, very seriously, because it's three in the afternoon and it's a gorgeous California day and also Christmas Eve, which is reason enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry, Merry

Brendon Urie has a big, epic, ridiculous crush on Spencer Smith and one of these days it's going to get him killed.

"Did you--shit," Spencer says, waving a hand through the smoke curling lazily around the kitchen. "Dude. Dude, I told you--"

"I was paying attention," Brendon argues. "I was so paying attention. Fuck you." The fact that he's a little drunk--and holding his third beer while he gestures--probably isn't helping his point.

"Yeah, no," Spencer says. "Our kitchen is full of smoke, fucker. I told you they cook really fast."

Brendon pulls a fork out of the drawer and pokes at the sad, tiny lumps of charcoal that--once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away--were supposed to be tiny spinach quiches. Quiche. Whatever.

"What the fuck is the plural of Quiche?" Brendon wonders, out loud. "Is it like. Like. A plural all on its own? Like geese?"

"Does it matter?" Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "Move over. I'm cooking everything else."

"You should drink more," Brendon says, very seriously, because it's three in the afternoon and it's a gorgeous California day and also Christmas Eve, which is reason enough. Both of their respective sets of parents are off visiting relatives for the holidays; they're playing a surprise show in two day's time in L.A., which means there isn't quite enough time to make it out and back, and thus Brendon's burning shit in their kitchen. And getting drunk.

(Brendon is getting drunk because it is one thing entirely to be in a band with someone, and live with them, and take their dog out for walks in the morning together because your roommate is hung over and you're a nice guy, and--somehow it's another thing entirely to watch Spencer hang stupid surfer ornaments on their tiny, ugly tree and and hum along with retro Christmas music and drink the stupid Hawaiian Christmas cocktail that Ryan came up with that's currently sitting in their blender. Spencer sort of bops his head and shakes his hips along to the music, and sometimes even sings a little to Dylan and Bogart, and Brendon needs more alcohol to deal with this.)

"You say cooking like you're doing something other than heating up frozen appetizers," Brendon says, because he is nothing if not fair.

"Yeah, and you couldn't even handle that," Spencer says, scraping the burnt bits off the cookie pan with a metal spatula. "Go hang more ornaments, you alkie."

"I am casually and responsibly enjoying my Christmas Eve," Brendon says, with a dignity he doesn't actually feel. He snickers halfway through and totally ruins it, and Spencer raises an eyebrow. He's wearing board shorts and his hair is sticking up in the back. Brendon wants to kiss him. Brendon thinks _Hahahah!_ (slightly hysterically), and the he thinks _Fuck_ (also mildly hysterically), and then he goes to see where that ugly-ass Christmas garland they bought ended up.

\--

Spencer makes dinner, or rather, Spencer heats dinner.

Brendon's parents call. _Spencer's_ parents call, and they sing Spencer's mom a rather off-key serenade into the phone and she makes happy noises at them and tells them not to drink themselves into a stupor. She sounds a little tipsy, which is both entertaining and totally fair, as Spencer's family is in Maui for Christmas and Brendon would be telling her to have a Mai-Tai right the fuck now if he wasn't still weird about swearing in front of Spencer's mom.

She's just so...nice. And awesome. Brendon can't help his childhood conditioning.

In that time, Brendon accomplishes the following things:

He makes all of the dogs a decorative garland which Bogart hates, Dylan chews up, and Indie wears proudly, like it's a distinct mark of honor to be bestowed with such an important gift.

He takes Dylan outside so he won't throw up on the carpet and smokes three cloves, because they smell nice and he can.

He has another beer.

\--

"Hey, hey, we should," Brendon says, and then breaks off because fuck, seriously, these little shrimp things are delicious. "We should like. Have a Christmas sing-along."

"If that means you play guitar and I listen, I'm all for it," Spencer says. He's got a joint in one hand and his bare feet flat on the sun-warmed brick of the patio and he's in a much better mood now that there's food.

"You listen to me sing all the time," Brendon says. "Like, seriously, _all the time_."

"Doesn't mean I don't like it," Spencer says placidly. "It's like background music. Soundtrack to my life, some shit like that."

"That's really fucking gay," Brendon says, and freezes, because that came out a lot more serious than he intended, in that it sounded like he was implying that Spencer is actually in gay love with him and god, he wishes, but like, no.

"You know it," Spencer says, and smiles at him lazily, and Brendon sort of half-smiles and thinks maybe it's time to switch back to water.

\--

They move back inside, eventually, once the sun goes down and it starts to get a little chilly. Spencer's stoned and giggly and Brendon's starting to sober up, so he takes the lion's share of the cleaning, even if it's just moving things off the patio and dumping them in the sink. Whatever. It's Christmas Eve. He's not doing dishes.

Spencer's eating the center of the cheesecake out with a spoon (so gross) and asking him "So, dude, like, what do you think about getting some fish? A fish tank. It would be cool, I know someone who could set it up," and Brendon's heart is light and airy and swishy in his chest. A breeze blows in through the open kitchen window and Brendon turns into it for a second, lets the air cool the sweat on his forehead and closes his eyes, and Spencer suddenly stops talking.

Brendon turns, frowns, makes an inquisitive face complete with inquisitive noise, but Spencer just shakes his head and keeps talking about how they should get Red Zebra Cichlids and maybe some Pleicos.

\--

"Tiny sharks," Brendon says, very seriously. They're sitting in the living room in the glow of the Christmas lights and finishing off Ryan's stupid cocktails and smoking out of Spencer's bong. "If we're getting a fishtank, I want sharks."

"I don't know if they make sharks that small," Spencer says. "Where's my laptop? I can check."

"Fuck you, 'where's my laptop,' it's Christmas," Brendon says, kicking at Spencer's leg. "Hang out with me and plan your dream fish tank." Bogart's curled up on his toes, in between them on the couch, and Brendon feels warm and lax and cozy.

"But I don't know what I want," Spencer says. "I just stared at pictures of fish and thought they looked cool. I was kind of hoping you knew."

"Were you stoned?" Brendon says, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Spencer says. "Maybe. A little. Look, it was like two weeks ago, okay? It's not like I smoked up and didn't share."

"You waited two weeks to tell me you want to co-own a fish tank?" Brendon says, frowning.

"I thought--I don't know," Spencer says, looking away, and is he blushing? What the fuck, he's blushing. That's so weird.

"We have a dog," Brendon says, and helpfully points to their dog on the couch. "We can get a fish tank, if you want a fish tank. It's not like we have to walk them." He stares at the bong on the table and gets sort of distracted, because he's kind of high and in the glow of the Christmas lights it looks really pretty. It's all reflect-y and shit.

Spencer takes a deep breath and turns to Brendon and Brendon thinks _Oh, holy shit, are we about to have a moment?_ when Dylan and Indie tear through the room, barking, narrowly missing the Christmas tree and causing it to wobble alarmingly. Spencer's on his feet instantly and Bogart barks in protest when Brendon jumps up to help him, because while it's not a huge tree, it's still as tall as Spencer. "Bungee cords," Brendon says, holding the base while Spencer rebalances it. "I told you. Bungee cords."

"What were we going to tie it too, the wall?" Spencer says, but he's smiling.

"Your face!" Brendon says, because he's stoned and it's funny inside his head. Spencer snickers. He wipes pine needles off his hands and then sits down at the base of the tree, adjusting things here and there, moving ornaments around when it feels like they're going to fall off. His hair's all shiny in the glow of the Christmas lights and Brendon wants to kiss him but that's normal, that's okay, he's used to it. Brendon has got this shit on lockdown.

"Is that--is that _mistletoe?_?" Brendon says, when Spencer holds up an ornament to replace it, squinting one eye at the tree to look for decorating holes. Spencer looks up and blushes and says "No?" and Brendon cracks up because seriously, where the hell did that come from, he's never seen it before. It's like, a fake mistletoe ornament made out of clay and it's so ugly. It's awesome.

Spencer looks back and forth, between Brendon and the ornament, and then he drops it into Brendon's lap and Brendon has a few seconds of Hunnnh? before Spencer leans in and kisses him. It's exactly the last thing Brendon was expecting, and the kiss is sort of bad because he's just so surprised. Spencer pulls away, looking a little confused, and Brendon says "No, no, come back, do-over," and Spencer laughs into his mouth and he tastes like rum and malibu. Brendon pushes at his shoulders and tries to brush away a spot on the carpet, because pine needles are poky little bitches, but Spencer just smiles against his mouth and pulls Brendon down and they make out, slow and easy.

"Hey, so, Merry Christmas," Spencer says eventually, and Brendon flicks him between the eyes. "Do you know," he starts to say, trying to get up a righteous rage at just how long he's been giving Spencer a wide berth because of that whole _Nope, don't like dick!_ thing, but he's kind of too stoned and relaxed to care. Whatever. He can bitch Spencer out in the morning.

(Oh, man. Christmas morning blowjobs? Hell fucking yes. Brendon is so down with this.)

"Merry Christmas," Brendon finishes eventually. "Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says. "Let's make out more. It was good. I was a fan."

"I hadn't noticed," Brendon says seriously.

"Fuck you too," Spencer says, and pulls him back in with a smile.


End file.
